One of Those Days
by MLS1984
Summary: Alan Gawain is having a REALLY bad day...


"Perfect Fucking Day"

As Heather Mason traversed the haunted pathways of the subway station, she cursed softly to herself. Luckily, the only other sets of ears in this tainted hellhole belonged to creatures that weren't real big on civilized conversation. They didn't exactly talk much.

Especially when their intestines were oozing out onto the floor.

"Fucking goddamned son-of-a-whore-bitch!" Heather growled to the dead, dog-like creature.

Thick brain matter oozed from it's now open skull; almost as though in response.

Still muttering blackly to herself, she began to absently swing her now sticky metal pipe. She turned, and began to walk away from the corpse, and then she-

-tripped.

"**Hell.**" she grumbled.

She looked to where she fell, and discovered a notebook lying at her feet.

She picked it up, and upon further examination, discovered that it was a black, leather bound Day Planner. It even had the owner's name stitched onto it in gold letters: **A. Gawain.**

"Nice custom job." she whispered, smirking. God only knew what had happened to the schmuck.

Heather's radio- which seemed to be a way of detecting the monstrosities that stalked her- remained eerily silent. She took that as a good sign. Curious, she opened the notebook.

_June 4th:_

_7am: Got up. Showered. Halfway through, realized that the hot water was gone. Water heater's busted._

_9am: Got to work. Spilled my morning coffee all over my new Armani shirt. Dammit._

_11am: Surprise conference call- at least, **for me**, it was. Sheila neglected to give me the emergency call last night. Had to go in cold. I likely fucked up, big time._

_1pm: Broke for lunch. Fired Sheila. Went to D'Agostino's._

_3pm: Decided to walk back from restaurant, figured the air would do me good. Old lady with a pomeranian passed me. Fucking yappy dog decided to lift it's leg and deposit a "present" on my pants. If I hadn't been wearing a black suit, I would've punted that fucking glorified sewer rat into the stratosphere- with the owner still attached._

_5pm: Janey called. She was pissed off, as usual. Her Sweet Sixteenth- and I had promised driving lessons. Thanks to Sheila- that's shot to shit. I opened the closet and gave her a couple extra kicks for ruining my day- the cunt._

_7pm: Dinner. Had to call it in. No way in hell was I leaving the office with coffee and piss stains till I absolutely had to. Christ, maybe the Chinese food will be on time for a change!_

_9pm: Spent the last hour-and-a-half getting reacquainted with my dinner. God only knows what I smell like now._

_10pm: Finally left the office for the night. Standing in the subway now, and I'm all alone. The lights keep flickering and making creepy, electrical noises. It's freaking me out. There's a wind, and I think-_

Much to Heather's relief- it cut off there.

Something was wrong with that guy, whoever he had been. She left the notebook there, and she stood up. She resisted the sudden urge to wipe her hands on something.

Before making it three steps, she felt something slam into her from behind. With a shriek, she fell onto the tracks.

She laid there for a moment, stunned. Then, she heard a noise that froze the marrow in her bones: the train was coming. She could hear the horn.

Scrambling to her feet, she lunged back onto the platform. She had cut it so close that she had actually felt the train brush lightly against her back.

For a few minutes, she just sat there; shaking. Then she noticed that the notebook had opened again. There was an entry that definitely** had not been there before.**

_11pm: Lights! Oh, God- the lights! _

And beneath the neat handwriting, something was scrawled harshly in red:

_**11:30pm: Perfect fucking end to a perfect fucking day.** _

**:AUTHOR'S NOTES: Ta-da! My first attempt at a ficlet. How'd I do? Did anyone see the hidden thing in my story? Poor Sheila. Haha! And I picked the name cuz I wanted another famous decapitation- but Ichabod Crane was taken... R&R kiddies!**

**:DISCLAIMER: Silent Hill ain't mine. I wish it was, but nope. Konami owns them. Sigh.**


End file.
